


Monotone

by Rat_chan



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rat_chan/pseuds/Rat_chan
Summary: Murdoc had planned to kill Angus MacGyver eventually. How dare someone else take that from him?





	Monotone

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the season 2 finale. Just a what if scenario.

When Murdoc comes for Jack Dalton, the man smells like a still. He's sitting facing the blank screen of his TV, the shattered remains of a glass held loosely in a bleeding hand. He isn't moving except for the muscles around his jaws. The sound of teeth grinding seems loud in the otherwise silent room. His unfocused gaze is directed to his entertainment center and the incongruously bright object upon it: a Swiss Army knife.

_So. It's true._ Murdoc didn't believe it until now. He was sure that they must have faked it. MacGyver is smarter than that.

_Was_ smarter than that.

Rage bubbles up inside of him, bringing a tightness to his own jaw. His hand on his gun, however, is rock steady as he lifts it and presses the muzzle against the back of Dalton's head. Instinctually, the man freezes and his hands go up. His eyes lock on Murdoc's reflection in the TV screen -- the shadow he should have noticed already.

"Mur--"

"You were supposed to keep him alive, Jack." The killer cuts him off and the words he chose silence him. "You had one job: to keep MacGyver alive until _I_ killed him. Why do you think I left _you_ alive?"

"He quit the Phoenix. There was nothing I could do." Dalton's words have the hollow, rehearsed sound of a litany. He's repeating others' words, not his own. But it's clear that he believes the blame Murdoc has placed on him more than the statements he's just mouthed.

"You _failed_ him." It's more a rage-filled accusation than a calculated twist of the knife. Murdoc takes a deep breath and, in a lower, steadier voice, repeats, "You failed him and now he's dead."

"I... He..." Jack can't find any more lies or excuses. Blood drips from a clenched fist as he uncaringly pushes a shard of glass deeper into his palm.

Murdoc wants to move around in front of the other man -- to see the pain and guilt that should be in his eyes. He settles for the dark reflection of it. He locks a wide-eyed glare on the image in the screen and asks, " _Who_?"

"Who what?"

"Who killed Angus MacGyver?"

"What the hell do you care?" Dalton narrows his eyes and angrily returns the reflected glare. Both hands are closed now, trembling slightly with the desire to lash out. "Why the fuck should it matter to you?"

"Because he was _mine_."

"The _hell_ he was!" Forgetting or not caring about the gun on him, he gets to his feet, turning and sending the chair thumping to the floor as he does so. Murdoc takes two quick steps back, keeping his gun trained on the now standing man. The clenched fists lower, but the angry voice and stare do not. "He wasn't yours, you god damned psycho."

"His death was mine." His rage takes over his mouth, preventing his usual flippant tones. "And you are going to tell me who robbed me of it."

The agent's mouth opens, rounded, ready to spew out a stereotypical "or what?" But he stops before even the first phoneme sounds. His hands work spasmodically open and closed and his lips are white between clenched teeth. His reddened eyes are narrowed on the gun between them. They close and his head cocks to the side, as if listening to another voice. Finally, the tension leaves his body and he opens his eyes to meet Murdoc's gaze. Anger, defeat, and what the assassin can only assume is grief fill Jack's eyed. "You gonna kill that son of a bitch?"

"Definitely," the killer promises, meaning it one hundred percent. "Painfully."

A determined, vengeful spark ignites in the agent's gaze at that. "Jonah Walsh," he spits out the name of their mutual hate. "He's... His name is Jonah Walsh." Dalton decides the name is all Murdoc needs to know.

He's right. "Jonah Walsh," the dark man hisses. He'll soon have a face to go with the name -- and a corpse. Without another word, he pivots on his heel and starts walking away, gun still in hand, but pointed toward the ceiling.

"That's it?" Jack asks from behind him. There's no sound of movement.

Murdoc pauses with his gun resting on the door frame and his free hand on the door knob. He doesn't turn around. "I don't engage in mercy killing." He hears a hissed breath and soft swearing behind him as he departs, but ignores it.

He's finished here.

\-- -- -- -- --

Much later -- a road trip and a storm of blood later -- Murdoc is home. He sits on his dark leather sofa and leans deep into it, waiting.

_Why?_ He asks his indifferent walls and his cold, white ceiling. _Why?_

Why doesn't he feel the usual wash of pleasure and satisfaction of a job well done? Sure, he felt a vengeful form of that pleasure when Walsh was on the ground before him, fluid filling the dying man's lungs and vitality seeping out from any number of bullet holes. Sure, grim satisfaction curved his mouth when the large man painfully gurgled one last breath as he drowned in his own blood.

_But why not now?_ Murdoc feels nothing, not even boredom.

"Dad?" A small, querying voice comes from the hallway that leads to their bedrooms.

"Cassian." He sits up straighter on the sofa and turns toward his son.

"You're home." The boy's usually joyous greeting is subdued and he walks rather than runs to his father.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Murdoc shoots a look toward the nanny who followed Cassian into the living room. Will he have to kill this one sooner rather than later?

"You look sad." The child places his hands on his father's cheeks, gazing into his eyes.

_What?_ For a moment, Murdoc is too startled to react. After a moment, he waves the nanny out of the room and covers his son's hands with his own. "You know Daddy's never sad when he's with you." He pulls their hands down until he's merely clasping Cassian's small fingers in his own.

"Did you lose something?"

"That's my clever boy." He tries to smile into that worried gaze, but he can't quite manage it. "Yes. I did lose something." Only after they've both voiced it does he feel the truth of the word. "I lost something... important."

"Is there anything I can do?" Small, dark eyes stare earnestly into his own.

"You..." The incongruous seriousness in that young gaze stops his offhand answer. He closes his eyes and looses the tension in his arms, dropping their joined hands to his knees. "It's too late."

"Is there anything _you_ can do?" Small hands pull free of his grip and grasp his shoulders.

_Clever, clever boy._ "I tried," he answers honestly, images of his revenge flashing behind his eyelids. He pulls Cassian into a hug as he opens his eyes, not wanting his son to see the violence in his features. "There's nothing I can do." He can kill every last member of the Phoenix Foundation -- slaughter everyone responsible for MacGyver's death -- but it won't change anything. "It's gone forever."

Grief, sorrow, regret. Those are words without context for Murdoc. All he knows as his son returns his embrace and he looks at the monochromatic room around him is one thing.

Angus MacGyver is dead, and the world is so much less interesting without him.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked and reworked the first part, trying to do justice to Jack (and his apartment). I didn't want him to be just a plot device.


End file.
